


I Wanna See You Lookin' Up

by alienor_woods



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Throne Kink, Throne Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7908673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienor_woods/pseuds/alienor_woods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We're alive, Clarke.  Right now, we're alive."</p><p>Or: a PWP based on a conversation in which I threw out that it would totally be dirty-bad-wrong-fantastic if Bellamy ate Clarke out on the Commander's throne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Wanna See You Lookin' Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verbaepulchellae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaepulchellae/gifts), [rashaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rashaka/gifts).



Polis is eerie at night.  Or maybe three months alone out in the woods makes any civilization look eerie.

 

It’s a full moon tonight.  Clouds shine silver over the city peppered with windows glowing bronze with the fires within.  Clarke hasn’t slept since the City of Light.  Everyone else has gone to bed hours ago, but her mind whirrs with possibilities, with nightmares that could soon be reality.  The images ALIE showed her replay behind her lids whenever she closes them, red and painful with promised death.  She curls her hands around the railing outside the throne room and tilts her face into the sharp wind.

 

“Clarke.”  Fingers brush her back lightly, just letting her know he’s there.  “You should sleep.”

 

“So should you.”

 

Bellamy huffs and steps beside her so that they’re shoulder to shoulder.  She’s missed that.  The presence of him right there, just behind her shoulder, close enough to lean back into if she needs it.  She nods at the horizon.  “They’re melting down out there.  The reactors.”

 

“So ALIE says.”  He doesn’t sound convinced.

 

“It’s not like she could lie.”  Clarke worries her lip between her teeth.  “We don’t even know how many.  It could be dozens.”

 

“The grounders will know.  Or we can look it up in the old libraries.”

 

“What if we’re not fast enough?  What if we run out of time?  Maybe that’s why ALIE did what she did -- because she knew it was impossible, no matter what.  Maybe there’s no way to stop--”

 

The rest of her sentence ends up muffled into Bellamy’s jacket.  He wraps his arms around her and presses his cheek to her hair.  “It’s going to be fine.”  His shoulder is solid against her cheek.  Warm, too.  Clarke presses her nose into him and breathes deeply.  “We have Monty and Raven.  And Jasper, and Miller.  Your mom and Kane.  We even have Murphy.  He’s somehow stayed alive this long, so we should probably keep him close.  Suck up some of his luck.”

 

She chuckles but her stomach still churns under her heart.  “I just thought that this was going to be...be it, you know?  We would finally be done with all of this.  But it’s not done.  And people could still die.  You--” Clarke leans back, but not away.  Bellamy’s arms firm up a bit, stopping her from pulling away from him.  “We could still die.”

 

“We’re alive, Clarke.”  The bright moonlight and torchlight turns his dark hair half silver, half bronze.  She huffs and turns her face back towards Polis.  But he’s not done with her, cups her face and turns it back to his own. “Right now, we’re alive.”

 

Clarke thinks about the throne room just inside, about waking up to see the carnage and chaos just feet from the dais she’d sat on. “You're right.  We’re alive.”

 

Bellamy nods and gives her that half smile that he's too good at.  She takes a deep breath, lets it out of her at its own pace, and smiles back at him.  His eyelashes flutter, then she feels his thumb drift over her lower lip, almost like when he'd fed her the chip that had sent her into the city of light.

 

She rolls up onto her toes and kisses him -- closed-mouth, so he can turn his head away if he wants.  Instead, he slips his hand around to the back of her neck. “You’re frigid,” he murmurs.

 

“It’s almost winter.”  His mouth is warm, though, his tongue soft.  She knew it would be.  Boys don’t have mouths so pretty only to be unkissable. 

 

She shivers at the rasp of his tongue against hers.  He hums and drags his hands from her neck to her arms and back up, warming her in more ways than one.  Clarke clutches at the back of his shirt, fists it in her hands and fits her knuckles into the cords of muscles along his spine.  He’s here with her, inside the very circle of her arms, and she can’t help but push up onto her toes again and lick deep into his mouth.  One of Bellamy’s hands skips into her hair at that, twists and tugs sweetly so she gasps in the cold night air.

 

He mouths at the corner of her jaw, drops a hand to palm her breast and laughs a curse into her neck.  “Sorry, they just--feel so much better than I thought they would.”

 

“Boobs usually do,” she agrees.  Her breath is coming faster now and turning ghostly white in the space above Bellamy’s shoulder.  She pulls him backwards until her back hits the outside wall of the tower, where he pushes into her space and slips a hand under her shirt.  “I can’t believe you’ve thought about my boobs, though.”

 

His hand tugs up her bra until a breast slips free, heavy and pebbled from the cold and Bellamy’s insistent hands.  Bellamy circles his thumb around her nipple and doesn’t hide the twitch of his lips when her hips cant up into his.  “Clarke, every guy at the dropship thought about your boobs.”

 

“Not Miller!”

 

With an arched brow, Bellamy works her other breast free and nibbles on the line of her jaw when her eyes flutter shut and her back arches.  “Miller said he didn’t know why I hadn’t fucked you yet, when you had a rack like this.”  He pushes her breasts together and up as he says it, fastens his mouth to hers when she groans at the feel of it, at the thought of Bellamy thinking about fucking her all those months ago.

 

She pushes her forehead to his and covers his hands with hers. “But you’re fucking me now, though, right?”

 

He laughs.  “Yeah, I am.”  A particularly brisk wind makes their eyes sting and water.  “C’mon,” Bellamy murmurs, dropping his hands from her breasts to her waist and guiding her back and into the dark, quiet throne room.

 

There aren’t any guards on this level, not being so concerned with the people who had just destroyed the City of Light as with the normal grounders and sky people who had been perfectly happy in their artificial heaven.  So Bellamy doesn’t seem to feel any concern about groaning when Clarke works his shirt up and over his head so she can kiss her way across his chest, mouth at his nipples and trace her fingers along the planes of his stomach.  Instead, he snickers when Clarke stumbles backwards on the stairs of the dais and catches “you asshole” in his mouth.  And so it’s easy for Clarke to moan and sigh when Bellamy flicks open her pants and fucks her with his fingers right there on the steps in front of the massive wooden throne that generations of Commanders have ruled from.

 

She tugs his hair to pull his attention from her breasts.  His mouth shines in the moonlight and Clarke  _ wants _ .  “Will you eat me out?”

 

He kisses her again, all teeth and tongue, two fingers deep in her cunt, his “fuck, yes,” coming from somewhere deeper than his chest.  He hauls her to her feet and looks at the table across the room, frowns, then shrugs, half-carries Clarke to the throne and drops her on its seat.

 

“Bellamy!” Clarke hisses.  

 

He rolls his eyes, pulling her boots off.  “You already sat here once today.”

 

“That was different,” she half-protests, already lifting her hips when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of her pants.  Bellamy recognizes her forfeit, though, and rises on his knees between her legs to suck at her pulse point and fondle a breast.

 

“I can call you Princess if it’ll make you feel better,” he murmurs into neck.  She squeezes her knees into his waist and tugs on his hair in rebuke.  He chuckles.  “Another time, then.”

 

Clarke’s brow furrows.  “There might not be another time.”

 

“There’ll be another time,” he insists.  He licks his first two fingers and slides them into her cunt.  “Stop being so goddamn fatalist.”  He scissors his fingers and Clarke presses her lips together to muffle a whine.  “I’m about to go down on you in the Commander’s throne room and I’ll take it very personally if you are able to think about anything else while I’m working.”

 

Now Clarke laughs, because of course Bellamy can make jokes right now.  “You’re talking a big game, Blake.” Bellamy just nuzzles her sternum and laps at the underside of her breasts and waggles his eyebrows at her under his curls.  She sinks her fingers into that mop of hair, takes in the sight of her pale fingers and his dark curls glowing slightly ethereal in the moonlight.  The drift of his mouth across her stomach and his hand along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh shivers a sigh from her.

 

His broad shoulders look way too good settling themselves into place between her thighs.  She’s just as turned on by that as she is by the feel of his warm breath weaving through her pubic hair.  He starts soft, with short flicks of his tongue across her clit matched with the long and slow strokes of his fingers inside her.  Clarke settles back into the throne, welcoming the press of the knobby wood into her back and legs.  Bellamy stays slow just long enough for her to settle a bit, relax her shoulders, and then he crooks his fingers and gives wide, flat licks to her her clit, her hood, every bit of sensitive skin around it.  She moans at that, rolls her hips into his face, so he pulls his hand free and settles his arms around her hips so he can fuck her with his tongue.

 

He can hold her open better like this, lip at her labia and swirl his tongue around her clit until she’s rolling her head restlessly against the wooden branches behind her.  “So good,” she tells him, gasping when he makes slow, deliberate licks up her center.  The skin of her chest tingles with opening capillaries, her thighs start to quiver.  Bellamy feels it and shifts one of them up and over his shoulder.  He’s so warm and solid under her knee, and now he’s back to these quick, tiny flicks and zigzags of his tongue.  Clarke whines his name and clutches at one of the arms of the throne, barely able to keep her eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time.  She catches him watching her, his eyes reflecting torchlight and flickering between her breasts and her face.  She murmurs his name and he rewards her with the chastests of kisses to her thigh.

 

She can only pet his hair with failing coordination, and he notes it, because he brings his fingers back, three this time.  Clarke shudders at the sweet fullness for her cunt to grab onto when everything is spiraling inward around the twist of Bellamy’s tongue on her clit.  He sucks on it and she arches, quivering.  He does it again, firm and sure, and then again, and Clarke comes, arching up from her thigh on his shoulder and into a crashing wave of electricity and heat and  _ life _ .

 

After he’s buried his face in her hair while she jerks him off against her stomach, after they get dressed with shaky knees and hands, and after they walk back to their adjoining rooms with their arms slung companionably around each other, Clarke collapses into her bed and buries her face in her pillow.  She had been so anxious about all that they need to do, but (she yawns, now) she’ll deal with it tomorrow.

 

Because there  _ will _ be a tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S A GR8 VISUAL, ADMIT IT, Y'ALL.


End file.
